


In the Blood

by magistrainartis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 15:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistrainartis/pseuds/magistrainartis
Summary: Ignis' life's purpose is to be of use to the Prince. What use is he if advice goes unheeded, if his world falls to darkness?





	In the Blood

Ignis’ duty was written in his blood. He was six years old when his mother dressed him in stiff new clothes and told him he was to meet the Prince. As she fastened tiny white buttons up to his neck, she reminded Ignis that he was a big boy, older than Prince Noctis. He had learned more and could do more than the young Prince, and from now on he was responsible for helping Noctis make the right choices.

Ignis had nodded solemnly. He’d met the King before, and had liked his smiling eyes. The King had shaken Ignis’ hand and called him “Mr. Scientia,” just like his father and his uncle. He wasn’t poking fun at Ignis’ seriousness, like other grownups did. He’d asked if Ignis was ready to help the next King of Lucis, and Ignis said yes even though he didn’t know how. 

But Noctis was still little, and it was easy to help him. When Noctis didn’t want to share his toys or tell the truth, Ignis showed him the right way to act. And the governess was never too far away to lend a soft hand and a firm word. When he wasn’t with his tutors, Ignis’ days, and many of his nights, were spent at Noctis’ side. True to his word, he helped the Prince make good choices and, when he couldn’t, he made sure Noctis was never really unsafe. He was a big brother and a best friend, and was confident he would make the Scientias proud.

***  
He’d wanted so badly to go to Tenebrae with Noctis. His father explained that meeting the Oracle was one of the most important moments of the Prince’s life: a royal tradition that didn’t include outsiders. Ignis had willed his cheeks not to flush as anger rose in his chest, but there was no arguing with the stoic elder Scientia when he’d made a decision. Ignis had made sure Noctis packed his favourite toys, insisted he pack a few books, and had waved goodbye as the Regalia pulled away from the Citadel. 

He’d never guessed that when the car returned, Noctis would be lifted out and seated in a wheelchair. Ignis had waited every day for letters, for news, for any passing word of the Gralean attack’s aftermath. His parents had soberly told him that the King and Prince had lived through a direct assault, and that Queen Sylva had died. But they couldn’t answer his unending questions about whether Noctis was alright, whether he was getting Ignis’ letters, whether he was coming home soon. Only Cor could see how the separation tore at the young advisor, and made sure to pass on what little information he learned about Noctis’ wellbeing.

Noctis returned home wounded, clutching a carved wooden toy, and talking endlessly about a girl and her dogs. Ignis reminded himself that the Oracle and her Messengers were firm and loyal friends to the line of Lucis, but the more Noctis raved about Luna, the farther Ignis felt from his best friend. He couldn’t make Noctis get better more quickly, couldn’t control the bad things that woke Noctis screaming.

After Tenebrae, the King’s resolve to fortify the Wall drained him of all energy and all time. As his father drifted out of his life, Noctis grew ever-more restless with life in the Citadel. As the Prince grew more rebellious, Ignis’ attempts at recapturing their friendship were met with silence and sullenness. The act of following a recipe became Ignis’ life preserver. When cooking, as long Ignis he did exactly as instructed, everything would be fine. Turning out a perfect flaky crust calmed his ever-growing tension as Noct’s choices became more questionable and less easily directed. With no friends outside the Citadel, Noct spent his time training with Gladiolus, whose irritation with the young Prince grew daily, and ignoring Ignis, who found it difficult to be patient with Noct’s moodiness and withdrawal. The more Ignis refused to disobey Citadel and family rules, and the more he insisted that Noct focus on his studies and attend political meetings, the further Noct distanced himself from his oldest friend. 

***  
When 17-year-old Ignis overheard his father and uncle discussing his waning influence over the Prince, he redoubled his efforts to guide Noct to the correct path. Ignis’ stern façade belied the churning thoughts keeping him awake and driving his caffeine reliance. His practical training as a Lucian advisor and physical training as future Crownsguard member ate at time he wished he could spend with Noct. He barely saw the Prince most days, with Noct spending every free moment playing video games with his friend in his apartment’s squalid luxury. While Noct whined about his father’s edict that he get a part-time job, Ignis tried to control his own anxieties over managing time spent in boardrooms with council members far above his rank, at his desk surrounded by official documents, and in the training centre struggling to master his secondary weapon. 

His adolescence had been nothing like Noct’s; there was never a question of living only for himself. He lived for a Prince who avoided him unless he wanted something, and who seemed to turn further from his destiny every day. Unwilling to seem ineffective in front of his family, Ignis found some comfort in commiserating with Gladio. The pair could argue for days, but a shared understanding of the weight of duty and the cost of failure forged bonds of brotherhood. Gladio had relaxed since his early adolescence, and Ignis was baffled by Gladio’s ability to transform from a fierce training partner to a genial good-natured friend. Ignis’ life had room only for Noct, and he envied Gladio’s easy way with others. Gladio had fun without commitment, and enjoyed easy relationships without breaking hearts. Ignis had engaged in a handful of brief, stilted relationships, but only as a begrudging way to scratch his irritating itch for companionship and physical connection. The moment a romantic partner glanced at Ignis with emotions deeper than casual interest, he ended the relationship. Ignis accepted that he’d eventually be expected to marry and produce children to continue his family line, but until he was satisfied that Noct was settled with a family of his own, and was finally prepared to fulfill his duty as King, Ignis refused to waste time on any other pursuit. 

***  
The day they left the Crown City, Ignis’ father had texted from his office: Be careful with the Regalia. There was no need for goodbyes; Ignis would return in a few weeks to make sure the royal chambers were in order for Noct and Luna’s return from their honeymoon. Ignis dressed quickly in his newly-tailored Crownsguard uniform, prepared especially for the trip and personally imbued with magic by King Regis. His mother had driven from her cross-town office to see him off. Her emerald eyes shone through tears as she brushed his already-pristine lapel and adjusted his perfectly straight collar. Her happiness shone brightly enough to break Ignis’ legendary stoicism. He’d grinned, then laughed, and hugged his mother close, granting himself a rare moment of pride in who he was. He was filled with youthful assurance of his expertise, his abilities, and his usefulness, and left his home full of expectations. 

***  
Several months - a lifetime - later, Ignis returned to Lestallum from Gralea. He was lost. He sharply cut off all signs of pity from friends and local acquaintances. He’d have died for Noct without hesitation; the Kings of Old has spared his life only because he was useful to the Chosen. Blindness was no more than a temporary, if distressing, barrier to this usefulness. But useful to what end? To help Noct die? Such was the Chosen King’s fate, and Ignis knew without doubt that the Noctis who had emerged from Fodina Caestino would sacrifice himself for his Kingdom. 

Gladio and Prompto put up with him out of concern and, he feared, obligation. He could sense the tension when he entered a room: Prompto’s forced cheerfulness, Gladio’s veiled doubts. Afraid of alienating his only friends, Ignis withdrew from their company and set about memorizing Lestallum’s winding streets. He made his way in slow circles through the city, making slow gains as he became more adept at detecting stray cobbles and avoiding the growing piles of debris.

An unfamiliar alleyway led him to the town’s communal kitchen, built in recent weeks to accommodate the growing number of refugees flocking to the city’s lights as the nights grew longer. Ignis was aware of his shifting feet, his shaking hands, self-conscious and uncertain where he’d once felt in command. Hunters, Glaives, and townspeople scurried about the open-air space. Their tense voices belied confident words; supplies were low, fresh meat was non-existent, and the threat of riots from within the city would become a reality if more food couldn’t be secured. 

Inattentive to his surroundings in his attempts to synthesize the conversations around him, Ignis was jostled into a corner, nearly losing his footing. He cursed as he steadied himself against a counter, then sighed. Food has always been in abundance, even on the road. But now he couldn’t forage or hunt, and Noct wasn’t here to fish (however poor his technique had been) – 

Ignis heard, saw, Noct in his memory as clearly as if they were together on a pier. "Iggy, shut up about my fishing. I don't care where you think it looks like the fish is going. You don't fish with your fucking eyes." Noct had leaned into his fishing rod as if into a dancing partner's arms. His left hand remained strong on the grip while his right slowly reeled.

"You fish with your hands. You feel it. You just...know." Noct leaned forward, then eased back as he pulled his catch from the water. The fish dangled and twirled, flicking light from its scales.

A comfortable sense of resolve settled over Ignis as he returned to the present. He rushed back to the apartment shared with his friends and began packing. Prompto paced worriedly, and Gladio’s voiced concern, but their tones were relieved; they’d missed Ignis’ certainty, had come to rely on it. 

Ignis packed several weeks’ worth of supplies, convinced a Glaive to drive to his chosen location, and headed to a secluded fishing spot northeast of Galdin. The Glaive connected a generator to a deep freeze before driving away. Ignis got to work.

The first morning, Ignis pitted his will against struggling fish, turning the rod where he expected the creature would go and snapping line after line. By the middle of the second morning, he’d begun moving with the tension thrumming through the rod. A familiar patience settled in as he let the line play out and draw in while the fish exhausted itself. When his first catch broke the water, Ignis yelled with excitement, turning to laugh as with a friend.

In the following weeks, Ignis reeled in fish in the mornings and practiced combat in the afternoons. By the time he returned to Lestallum, he was a more competent fighter than half the Glaives. In the following months, he trained until he was better than most, and then until he could beat any challenger. His blindness was an excellent distraction. He obsessively focussed on regaining his skills, honing his remaining senses, learning to wield daggers in the dark. 

Despite himself, Ignis started to relax. He didn't need Gladio and Prompto joking with him to recognize that his posture had loosened, that his smiles came more easily. He made connections, formed friendships, met people who broke his heart and filled it again. Ignis’ resolve, formed when he was a young child wearing a stiff white shirt, strengthened with his body and matured with his emotions. He would see his duty through to the end; he would serve as Hand of the King until Noct's destiny was complete. Then, perhaps, he would look forward. His usefulness would be needed.


End file.
